


Trauma & Cupcakes

by Infrared



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Baggage, Flashbacks, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 12:10:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14308347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infrared/pseuds/Infrared
Summary: Sorry, we are fresh out of cupcakes! Could we perhaps interest you in some trauma?AKA, 'snippets from my Sole Survivor's not-so-awesome adventures in wasteland survival and other shenanigans' that I couldn't seem to fit into her actual story, but I still liked how I wrote them and wanted to publish them somewhere.





	Trauma & Cupcakes

**Author's Note:**

> What do you do when you sit down to write the next chapter of your fanfic and hopefully further the plot and finally FINALLY advance toward a major turning point between two characters? WRITE SOME ANGSTY SHIT SET BEFORE THE STORY'S BEGINNING, that's what. Because THAT makes perfect logical sense.
> 
> Anyway, I'm not sure how many of these I'm going to end up with, and updates will likely be sparse, but at least killing my darlings might be a bit easier if I know they won't be a total waste of effort. I'll probably group this and my main fic, 'Thick As Thieves', into a series once I can manage to think of the perfect title for it (but let's face it, that could take ages).
> 
> All aboard the Angst Train!

**#01: FRAILTY**

 

** NOVEMBER 6, 2287 **

**.**

No words had been spoken since they’d left Fort Hagan.

The first hint of dawn streaked the sky red as Sloan scuffed along the broken road, barely aware of the limp in her step. She followed just behind Nick, though her legs seemed to be moving forward without any input from her.

She couldn’t seem to sense her own body. Didn’t notice the pain despite the lameness in one leg. Didn’t feel the cut on her forehead that slowly trickled crimson down her cheek. Bloodied knuckles curled into fists at her sides, nails digging into her palms until she felt the sting in her flesh.

The colors weren’t right. Too bright. Or too blurry. Or too sharp.

The sounds were too loud, and then too quiet. She could still hear the rush of her pulse in her ears.

She could still hear his voice, gruff and gravely in her head.

_“It’s not too late. Stop. Turn around and leave. You have that option. Not a lot of people can say that.”_

The voice had been too calm. Too collected. Toying with her.

 _Mocking_ her.

But she hadn’t cared. She hadn’t stopped to consider why. She’d been too focused, too driven, _too desperate._

She remembered the room, dimly lit and full of old computer consoles. She could still smell the scent of mold and mothballs. She remembered the sick feeling in her gut as the knot twisted tighter, her heart pounding wildly against her ribcage. The cold metal of her pistol in a grip so strong she’d lost feeling in her hand.

She’d been about to face down the monster who had haunted her dreams. The demon who had ripped her family apart.

And what she’d been about to do was something she now realized she could never come back from.

 _“And there she is,”_ he had announced, and all she’d seen was the toothy grin glinting in the low light. He’d enjoyed taunting her thus far. Setting eyes on his darkened figure had made her skin crawl. _“The most resilient woman in the Commonwealth.”_

He’d suggested they talk.

Sloan only wanted to choke the answers out of his mouth. But the Gen 2s by his side had kept her from lunging at him, from pressing the barrel of her gun to his temple.

She didn’t really know how she’d summoned the will to appear so composed in the moment, so chillingly placid, though her words were spoken in a voice she’d never heard before; a sound that was all rage and sorrow at once; a sound that should have cut into him.

_“You murdered my husband. You took my son. You’re a dead man.”_

_“Your husband,”_ Kellogg cast his eyes downward momentarily. _“That was…a regrettable accident.”_

 _“Regrettable?! Is that what you call shooting a man point-blank and killing him in cold blood?_ Regrettable _,”_ she’d spat back, her teeth bared, pulse pounding through her veins. 

If there hadn’t been even the _slightest_ chance that she could extract some pertinent information from him regarding her son’s whereabouts, she was sure Kellogg would have already been a corpse rotting on the floor.

_“You think I enjoyed having to do that? Well…I guess you do. Still… This world, this life? You’ve seen it. Pain, suffering. Death is its only escape. But don’t worry, Shaun’s fine. Maybe a little older than you expected, hmm?”_

_“Don’t fuck with me, cue ball. You know where Shaun is and I’m not leaving without him, I don’t care who I need to go through to make it happen.”_

_“That’s a shame, then. I can’t give him to you, ‘cause he ain’t here.”_

That was the moment that Sloan felt a part of herself break. _“Then WHERE IS HE?!”_ She’d lunged forward, pistol aimed directly at his head, her face twisted in a look of contempt. _“God damn it, you murdering fuck, where is my son?! I’m not going to ask you again!”_

Kellogg had remained unperturbed in a way that would have set off all her warning bells had she not been so incensed at the moment. His lips pulled upward in a faint smirk that she fought hard to keep from punching clean off of his face.

 _“What’s the cliché? ‘So close, but yet so far away?’ That’s Shaun,”_ he’d drawled, seeming to enjoy the myriad of emotion reflecting in her eyes. He’d leaned a little closer, stepping into her space and staring her down as he continued, _“But don’t worry. You’ll die knowing he’s safe and happy, in a loving home. The Institu—“_

There was a gunshot.

But he hadn’t died. Not then.

The man was a monster, after all. And monsters were made, not born. She’d pieced it together the moment their fight began. He’d displayed reflexes that were definitely not human in nature, perception and precision that could only be explained by some sort of enhancement.

Was he even human at all?

Her memories came back to her in fragments. A puzzle missing too many pieces.

She remembered the white-hot rage, the adrenaline flooding her system, the _need_ to survive. The sounds of gunfire filled the room. Something pierced her calf. Nick had shouted something, but she hadn’t understood it. She’d hit the floor and rolled, firing several shots. An explosion followed. Kellogg growled a curse.

She couldn’t remember what she’d done, or how she’d done it. Only that she _had._ By the skin of her fucking teeth, she’d seized the advantage.

He’d been on the floor, breathing, grinning, a small pool of crimson expanding beneath him.

_Grinning._

Nate was dead, and that murderer was grinning.

Shaun was gone, and that motherfucker was goddamned _grinning._

A feral scream ripped through Sloan’s throat as she’d hauled herself across the floor toward him. One hand grabbed the collar of his jacket, and the other balled into a fist.

Her knuckles collided with his face. _“You destroyed my family, you piece of SHIT!”_ Her fist crashed into his nose, jaw, forehead, anywhere she could manage to land a hit.

The edges of her vision went white. She barely registered his hand, held in a futile attempt at resistance. Over and over she hit him, until blood spattered and bones crunched.

Suddenly she’d been hauled off the man, pulled backward as a pair of arms hooked under her shoulders. Her immediate instinct was to break free. She’d struggled, lashing out as a strangled scream tore from her throat.

And then came Nick’s voice in her ear.

_“That’s enough, kid, he’s dead. He’s dead!”_

She remembered the stillness in the moment that followed. Staring down at Kellogg’s broken, lifeless body on the floor, surrounded by the pieces of his small synth army. She’d wiped at her face, her tongue tasting iron. Hers or Kellogg’s, she hadn’t been sure.

The smell in the air was no longer of mold and mothballs, but of gunpowder and blood.

She’d staggered a little when Nick released her, breathing hard, adrenaline still surging through her veins.

_Dead._

Kellogg was dead. But what she’d felt in that moment was far from victorious. There was no sense of justice, nor the satisfaction of vengeance.

All she’d felt was emptiness.

"I regret it," she said softly after either several hours or several minutes, breaking the long silence between herself and Nick as they approached the walls of Diamond City. “I lost control. I lost myself. I just wanted him dead, and…and now we’re back at _Square fucking One_.”

Nick considered her words for a long moment. “Maybe not. Let’s get back to my office and get you patched up,” he said, nodding toward the direction of the city. “I have an idea.”


End file.
